They rise up in April
purple veined with white
as if stained by snow—
winter’s scar
on the fresh skin of spring.
Seemingly fragile, frail
they prove surprisingly sturdy
bearing the heavy hopes
of every soul who stops to marvel,
mouth agape.
Covert color charging through
the ground’s frozen front
waving their violet victory flag—
the banner under which
we huddle for a spell
long enough to shed our coats
piling them on the pavement—
a pillar of promise,
a marker
of revolution.
Copyright © 2019 by AJ Saur, from Particles in Motion (Murmuration Press).
Eighth Day Aches 